by Lynn Haney
Sitting with George Stevens Jr in the garden of his Georgetown home in Washington, Greg impressed Stevens with his precision in the use of the English language in drafting the mission statement for the American Film Institute and in the depth of his commitment and concern for rescuing and preserving classic films, so many of which were either lost or in some state of decay. Reflected Stevens: ‘Idealism was never a hot ticket in Hollywood, and Gregory Peck’s willingness to raise his voice and lend his stature to an institution devoted to the cultural worth of film and television gave much-needed strength to the fledging organization.’
Without question, Greg was riding high. His name posted on the masthead of a charity guaranteed a large turnout. People said he was so perfect he was scary. Even the most celebrated producers, directors, screenwriters and agents held him in awe. Responding to a phone message from Greg, an industry insider confessed: ‘I couldn’t call him back right away because my mouth was so dry I couldn’t swallow to talk.’
At home on Cliffwood Drive in Brentwood, Greg sought tranquility in his sprawling brick ranch house and his garden. There were Transvaal daisies just outside the white-walled living room; plus walls of bougainvillea and deep rows of roses. Greg himself planted a vegetable garden where he grew beefsteak tomatoes, Japanese eggplant, cucumbers and zucchini. He rejoiced: ‘Working in the garden is to me pure pleasure.’
Across town at Occidental college, Jonathan pretty much kept to himself. Fortunately, his good friend John Bell moved from New Zealand to Los Angeles and they spent time together. ‘Jonathan wasn’t much of a drinker,’ said Bell. ‘We’d have a couple of beers and that was about it. Once in a while he’d bunk on my couch just to get away from school and have someone to talk to.’
Both Jonathan and Bell owned guns and enjoyed target practice. Once they ventured into the desert near Palm Springs and practiced shooting tin cans. ‘He liked guns,’ said Bell. ‘In fact, he was dedicated to his gun. He used to make his own bullets.’
When Bell turned 21, he decided to marry an American girl named Judy. Jonathan stood tall as his best man while Stephen and Carey Peck served as ushers. Greta went all out to give the couple a festive reception. But, once he was married, Bell found that with a wife and a job, he had embarked on a lifestyle quite different from that of Jonathan at college.
Jonathan called his friend one night and urged him to come to his apartment at Occidental, so Bell went, taking Judy along. They found Jonathan setting up a movie projector to watch The Guns of Navarone. ‘I thought it was odd that he wanted to watch one of his father’s movies,’ said Bell. ‘I’d seen it three or four times myself.’ He wondered how many times Jonathan had viewed it. But Bell and his wife stayed the evening and watched the movie. They didn’t want to leave Jonathan. His loneliness was palpable.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Power Players
‘. . . there’s only going to be one actor to be President, and the right one – as I keep telling him, he would never listen to me – is Gregory Peck. Bad actor, but he’d be a helluva President, you know.’
Orson Welles
Greg was so adept at raising cash for his arts and humanitarian projects, that some didn’t notice his secret weapon: Veronique. As his young wife moved into her 30s, she proved to be a formidable ally. Chic, funny, imaginative, and no-nonsense, she was a man’s woman, one way or another. And her impact was not to be underestimated. Totally focused on Greg, she was a force to reckon with in the brittle, bitchy world of Los Angeles society.
Veronique had been practically mute during her first years in Hollywood, but she now occasionally talked to the press. She sounded genuine, rehearsed and reverential. ‘Actors have so much talent to give; and they can’t give it in their youth – they must work for their own futures,’ Veronique told the Los Angeles Times. ‘Gregory really wants to give back something of what America gave to him. He feels he was lucky, and he just wants to pass some of that luck on.’
While Veronique gave the outward appearance of deferring to Greg, she was proving highly adept at managing his affairs. Without any apologies to feminists, she asserted, ‘I just participate in everything Greg does. I like it this way; I am not a career woman.’ Wherever he went, she went. No matter if it was a 28-city barnstorm to stump for cancer research money, or a small dinner to raise money for the Motion Picture and Television Relief Fund. Whatever the endeavor, Veronique was at Greg’s elbow, listening to him, reassuring him and generally giving him unconditional love – the life-blood of actors.
Rather than being called a housewife, Veronique preferred maitresse de maison in the French style. In any language, she was a high-powered professional partner. She kept track of the niggling details of their complex lives and sometimes played the heavy. ‘They run in rhythm,’ observed Harper Lee, who had become close friends of the Pecks during the filming of To Kill a Mockingbird.‘He doesn’t begin to understand her feminine wiles, but he sure does appreciate them.’
Keeping a low profile, Veronique grew and arranged profusions of flowers; stage-managed exquisite luncheons and dinners; sat quietly while her husband gave fundraising speeches as well as advising him on motion picture scripts and the roles that would showcase him to best advantage. Composer Elmer Bernstein, a friend of the Pecks, considered her ‘formidable.’ He observed: ‘I don’t think she suffers fools gladly.’ For himself, Greg said: ‘Veronique is my subliminal sub rosa associate producer. She has a lot of very good ideas and I welcome her suggestions and advice. I like the way she dresses, too.’
She traveled well. Over the years the Pecks could be seen at Kennedy picnics on Cape Cod, Princess Grace’s swimming parties in Monaco, and at little French bistros with Jacques Chirac. Stationed at Greg’s side, Veronique enjoyed watching his effect on females: ‘When women swoon over Gregory,’ she claimed, ‘it makes me very proud. I even give him pointers to perfect his technique.’
While Greta had resisted uprooting the children and living out of suitcases, Veronique packed at a few moments’ notice; then turned a sterile hotel room into a home from home. For longer trips, she could move lock, stock and barrel, to England, France, Switzerland, Australia, or their other home in Cap Ferrat. She was keenly aware that a man as attractive as Greg should not be left alone for long. No matter how crazy his schedule, she traveled with him and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. In that way she became indispensable to him.
‘We go wherever Greg goes,’ explained Veronique. ‘He wants his family around him.’ The constant travel separated her from her two young children, Anthony and Cecilia. It took her away from the house she loved. But her life was built, by design, around the involvements of her much-sought-after husband.
Of course there was sniping and gossiping in the tight little world of Hollywood, but that went with the territory. Hedda Hopper scoffed at what she called Veronique’s ambition to be ‘a real big-star hostess.’ And she shared with her readers what she heard about how the famous couple got together. ‘Veronique pretended to be a writer so she could get a private interview with Gregory when he visited Paris with his first wife, Greta, and openly told a companion, Brenda Helser of Diplomat magazine: “I’m going to be the next Mrs Peck.”’
It wasn’t easy for Veronique to find her place in the tough sorority of entertainers’ wives. In The Club Rules, a book about how to make it in Filmland, social critic Paul Rosenfield confides: ‘I discovered the truly monstrous women in Hollywood are the stars’ wives. Don’t tangle with them. They never forget anything ever. And then they ghostwrite their husbands’ autobiographies, and get even with everyone their husbands slept with, or got rejected by. They are the Greek chorus that speaks the truth – because they are protected by layers of club agents, attorneys, managers, business managers, maids, masseurs, manicurists, dress designers, and so on.’
Veronique was better looking and possessed more savoir-faire than most of the actors’ mates. In this Gucci jungle, her worldliness may have made her the target of
jealousy but it was also a great asset. She was intellectually concerned with public affairs and appreciated the arts. Plus, she was shrewder than most. She attended the other wives’ tented fêtes, luncheons and charity balls and they, in turn, supported the causes she espoused. Quid pro quo is vital for turnout. ‘All social life now is charity,’ commented actress Anjelica Huston. ‘I get 15 or 20 letters a day for everything from Yugoslavian dog illnesses to marathon diseases.’
Veronique’s big moment came when she wooed space age Paris couturier André Courrèges to Los Angeles for a benefit to help the fledgling Inner City Repertory Theater, a downtown group which played, free, to 4,500 bussed-in teenagers every week. With a handful of her powerful friends, she pulled off the coup of the year by persuading Courrèges to fly right over the heads of New Yorkers with two assistants and six great trunks from his new collection to give his first showing in America. Barbra Streisand, Ethel and Robert Kennedy, Jack Lemmon, Steve Allen, Lucille Ball, Gene Kelly, Kirk Douglas, Charlton Heston, Fred Astaire, Milton Berle, Marlo Thomas, David Niven, and Shirley MacLaine – all of them, plus about 400 others, paid $250 per couple to do honor to Courrèges. For her efforts, Veronique was named Los Angeles Woman of the Year of 1966.
Now that his oldest son Jonathan had come of age, Greg was eager for him to make a successful transition to manhood. ‘Every youngster,’ Greg said, ‘somewhere in his late teens, should take time out and test himself, climb a mountain, or take off for Outer Mongolia, or run in front of the bulls in Pamplona, or do something out of the ordinary. He should stand on his own two feet and test his stamina and his courage.’
The Peace Corps represented the kind of adventure that excited Greg’s imagination. In his inaugural address for 20 January 1961, Kennedy, the founder of the Peace Corps, challenged a new generation of Americans ‘to fight tyranny, poverty, disease, and war . . . To those people in the huts and villages across the globe struggling to break the bonds of mass misery, we pledge our best efforts to help them help themselves.’
In 1966, Jonathan Peck, having graduated from Occidental College, became one of the 15,000 volunteers who heeded the Kennedy call.
On 5 July 1966, Jonathan reported to Syracuse University for Peace Corps training to spend two years in Tanzania, one of the world’s poorest countries. Blair Bolles, another volunteer, remembered walking into the area where the recruits signed in. A message scrawled on a blackboard caught his eye. ‘Jonathan Peck. Call your father.’ Then Bolles joined the group on the lawn outside.
‘We were sitting outside waiting for some official greeting,’ said Bolles. ‘There was this guy sitting next to me. Very handsome. He looked just like Gregory Peck. It was spooky. Really spooky.’
Bolles mustered the courage to say: ‘I wasn’t going to ask you this, but I have to ask you. Are you related to Gregory Peck?’
‘Yes,’ Jonathan answered without elaborating.
Bolles replied, ‘I can’t tell whether you’re shittin’ me or not.’
They both laughed. Then Jonathan added, as though embarrassed by his relationship to a celebrity, ‘Well, I can’t help that.’
Jonathan liked chess. So did Bolles. ‘I’m a total wood pusher. A putzer,’ explained Bolles. ‘Jonathan had a real knack for chess. He carried around a portable set with pegs on the bottom.’ So the two young men played during their breaks in training.
With 85 per cent of Tanzanians living on the land, the Peace Corps volunteers were training to be agricultural workers and teachers. ‘We were all so idealistic,’ said Bolles, ‘and enthusiastic. They told us to go to the shed and get hoes. Jonathan and I sprinted to get out tools. With his runner’s training, he was really moving. Trying to keep up with him, I said, “This is probably the only time in our lives we’ll race to pick up a hoe.”’
In Tanzania, Jonathan was assigned to Kisiju, a little fishing village about 30 miles from Dar es Salaam, the vibrant and bustling commercial capital of Tanzania. Explained Peace Corps volunteer Carter Black, ‘It wasn’t far from Dar in terms of miles but it was really remote. Bush country. The boonies. You hardly ever saw a white person there.’
In his village, Jonathan taught English, science and agriculture. ‘I had to get used to an entirely new way of life. I lived in a house made of mud, with no electricity or running water. It was quite an adjustment, but I’m happy I did it.’
Filled with pride, Greg boasted Jonathan learned Swahili in 90 days. He was happy his son had ventured so far and was seeing the world’s great natural wonders such as Kilimanjaro. He quipped: ‘The nearest I ever got to it was Beverly Hills [referring to the Fox sound stage where The Snows of Kilimanjaro was filmed].’ Greg didn’t visit Jonathan during his African sojourn.
Paul Sack was the Country Director in Tanzania for the Peace Corps. It was his job to check in with the volunteers in the villages and give them guidance and support. He found Jonathan to be an upstanding young man, though quiet. ‘He was well spoken. Of course, he sounded just like his father. He was well composed. Wonderful manners. Everybody liked him.’ Sack remembered Jonathan told him his father’s age was 52.
‘My God,’ said Sack, who was 39, thinking of photographs of Peck. ‘I wish I looked that good now.’
‘Well, he works at it full time,’ Jonathan replied. ‘Very hard. A number of hours a day.’
Carter Black remembered Jonathan never complained about the bare bones lifestyle of rural Africa. Some volunteers didn’t work out, he explained. They stepped on the toes of local officials and had to be sent home for diplomatic reasons. Still, Black picked up on an emotional delicacy in Jonathan, who did not talk about his feelings. ‘You just sort of sensed there was a lot going on back there.’
On weekends, Jonathan ventured up to Dar es Salaam where he would hang out at the Kilimanjaro Hotel or the Bottleneck Bar at the New Africa Hotel, both popular meeting places with expatriates. ‘The female volunteers thought he was terrific,’ said Paul Sack. Blair Bolles watched with admiration as Jonathan persuaded a girl to come back to his primitive village with him. ‘I remember being impressed because he lived in as remote a place as any of us.’ He surmised: ‘It was an advantage to look like a famous movie star.’
Similarly, Carter Black was sitting on the veranda of the New Africa one day with Jonathan and two American girls who had traveled up from South Africa. After Jonathan left, Black told the girls who Jonathan was. ‘They just flipped out.’
Years later Jonathan confided to Nancy Stesin that during his Peace Corps stint in Africa he had an affair with a missionary’s wife. She was an avid fan of his father. And when she climaxed during lovemaking with Jonathan, she cried out ‘Gregory!’
After the first year, the Peace Corps volunteers in Tanzania were given a break. Most of them traveled around the country together. Greta visited Jonathan, who arranged to meet her at the airport in Dar es Salaam.
‘He asked me to iron a shirt for him,’ said Peace Corps volunteer Susan Casey, recalling it was a safari style. ‘He wanted to be properly dressed for her.’
Jonathan spent the break traveling in India with Greta. The other Peace Corps volunteers in his group saw it as an indication that his lifestyle was on a different plane from theirs. Said Carter Black: ‘It had an element of important people being whisked off in airplanes.’
But as the second year progressed, Susan Casey recalled Jonathan was under pressure from his father to do something significant with his life. There was talk Greg was using his pull with Lyndon B Johnson to get Jonathan into Annapolis. This is unlikely because Annapolis appointments are given to seniors in high school. In any case, following the Peace Corps Jonathan enrolled in the University of Virginia to study law. He dropped out after the first semester.
In the meantime, Greg’s prestige continued its upward trajectory. Here he was, looking like Lincoln and sounding like God. So it’s no wonder some of his Democratic colleagues started to view him as presidential timber. Wouldn’t it be nice if a real movie hero – one with b
rains – took over the White House?
The buzz had started during the California campaign of 1964 when California State’s Democratic incumbent Pat Brown was running against Republican Ronald Reagan. It was Brown who – unasked – threw Greg’s name into the political ring. Recalled Greg: ‘We had a whistle-stop tour, speaking from the observation platform of the train around California. And, on election night, when he lost to Ronnie Reagan, Governor Brown said, ruefully, I guess, “Hell, if they’re going to run actors against us, maybe we should have run Greg Peck.”’
Democratic leaders rejoiced at the idea. Pit Peck against Reagan. If Atticus Finch can take California, then the next stop’s the Oval Office. Greg’s colleagues inundated the press with positive comments about the star. Roger Stevens, chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts and former treasurer of the Democratic Party, said: ‘They’ll be lucky if they can get him.’ Added a White House aide: ‘He’s first rate as far as giving of himself. He’s a real doer, a favorite of the President, and our best circuit rider for culture.’
Some skeptics contended a background in government and law was better preparation for the highest office in the land than a career in films. Others saw no conflict. Jack Valenti, Chairman of the Motion Picture Association, said recently that some individuals believe actors and politicos spring from the same batch of DNA. To him, it made perfect sense: ‘They are both addicted to power, anxious to please, always onstage, inhabiting an unpredictable, sometimes glamorous world, hooked on applause, lured by publicity, and usually reading from scripts written by someone else.’